Flames and Icicles
by O0o.DameElektra.o0O
Summary: PostWar.When Harry turns to the dark side, Hermione tries to help.A broken Draco assists her for his own selfish purpose.Will they succeed in time or will a war erupt? Will Draco ever let down his cold demeanour? DMHG R&R Better than summary
1. A Trampled Apology

**Disclaimer: **

**FF staff member (wand at throat): Speak now or forever hold your silence!**

**DameElektra: I swear I don't own the characters here that anyone can recognize...but you cannot take the plot away from me! Mwahahahahaha...**

**A/N: So...this is my first fanfic. Feel free to criticize but please...I beg you...REVIEW!!**

**Flames and Icicles**

**Chapter 1: A Trampled Apology**

Hermione Granger descended from the train, and drew in a sharp breath. For a long time since the war, she had not smelt air as fresh as such—the putrid smell of rotting corpses and the gross smell of blood trailed the air she inhaled for the longest time she had known. The war had taken lives and returned none, but now that Voldemort was gone, both the Wizarding and Muggle world could take a whiff of relief. _But evil never rests, _she thought. But being Hermione Granger, she would always tend to worry too much. For the moment she let her worries go, and she advanced towards her best friends, Harry and Ron.

"Harry!" she yelled.

The two boys turned around for a while, leaving their chocolate frogs.

"It's so good to see—Harry and Ronald! When will you people grow up! Nineteen year olds fighting over chocolate frogs...ungh..."

"It _is _the best time of our lives, ain't it Hermy?"

"A new nickname?" Hermione quirked her eyebrows.

"Uhh...yeahhhh..."

Hermione noticed her two best friends more closely. Both had developed well over the year. Harry towered to a six feet, with toned abs and biceps due to regular workout. He claimed he had a six-pack, and Ginny had even put forth the proposition for him to show it, but then of course Ron intervened and protested at "giving his baby sister ideas". Ginny had huffed and scowled, and Hermione had just roared in laughter, at the same time claiming that it was Ron's excuse to support Harry's lie. Harry had quirked a quizzical brow, suggesting if Ron was jealous. And Ron went redder than his hair.

Ron's hair, in stark contrast to Harry's rough-looking raven one, was a smooth flaming red now. He towered an inch taller than Harry, and his body had developed into a very muscular one. Hermione sighed. She was pretty sure that Ron had a crush on her, and she thought she was on her way of 

forming one on him too, but it hurt to know that she would never be as good a girlfriend as all the other beautiful girls brooding over them.

Or so she thought...

Despite her unappreciative eyes at the mirror, Hermione Granger had turned into a pretty good-looking woman too. Maybe she didn't look like someone directly off the runway, but if someone noticed well, her beauty would shine through. Although she was a short height of only five feet, which at times threw her into depression, it only enhanced the petite look of her figure. She had soft curves and her once frizzy hair now lay in soft curls on her shoulder. Her auburn hair and hazel eyes went perfectly with her creamy white skin, now a little pink from the frosty wind blowing against it.

The purpose why they were here again was that Hogwarts had opened up a program in which witches and wizards could complete their post-graduation education. This was a lot more convenient, considering how they did not have to run after different institutions in different parts of the world now.

Hermione was a little disappointed though, at how the Head Girl was chosen from the Seventh Year only. Or else she really did have a shot at it...

"Daydreaming about Weaselbee, Mudblood?"

She would recognize that voice anywhere in the world. Draco Malfoy.

"Sod off, Ferret."

"Tired of me already, are you Granger?" Draco sneered, his five feet nine inches stature looking down at her—both in the physical sense and the figure-of-speech sense.

Hermione rolled her eyes at him.

"You're such a Mudblood." Draco said, in a pathetic attempt to break the weird silence between them.

Hermione snorted. "I really do appreciate your sympathies, as well as return them with full fervour."

"How so?" Draco raised an eyebrow quizzically, an egotistical look glazing his steel grey eyes which clearly said: "_I'm a rich Pureblood. How the hell can you sympathize _me??"

"Well as you say, Mudbloods are an oddity to the Wizarding Society right?"

"We finally agree." Draco smirked, thinking she was finally giving up.

"Well at least I'm not an oddity to the whole natural system of sexuality, _asexual idiot."_ Hermione's lips quirked up in a victorious smirk.

"Wha—"

"Aw poor Malfoy. I don't need an explanation _nor _a description of your intimacy with your Quidditch broomstick. No wonder you lose the Quidditch Cup every year. You're just too turned on to play properly aren't you?" She danced her eyebrows.

"You—you—" Draco was horrified. At a loss of words, all he could do was stare at her with big round eyes like a kid who has just been told about the birds and the bees by a friend and was running off to tell mommy what a bad, bad kid the friend was.

Hermione roared in laughter. _Good job, 'Mione! _She patted herself mentally on the back.

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Hermione fell with a loud thump in her new bed. _This was going to be a long year, _she thought.

Suddenly, there was loud knocking on the door. Thinking it was Harry, she opened the door.

"Hey Harry I've been—oh it's you." Hermione's face fell in disappointment.

"Disappointed I'm not the Boy Who Bloody Lived, Granger?" Draco said, reading her expression accurately.

"What do you want, Death Eater?"

That blew him off. "I'm _not _a Death Eater."

"Oh yeah? Of course you are. Just like Daddy." Hermione stated, folding her arms over her chest.

Draco was fuming. His porcelain face went red as he walked up to Hermione, causing her to take a step back. "I'm anything but Lucius Malfoy you bitch! Seems like our know-it-all doesn't know something after all! Well FYI, I fought on the light side in the war and that definitely makes me _anything _but Lucius Malfoy. I came here only to apologize because I called you a Mudblood earlier, and I know I didn't mean it. The war changed me and my ethics and my beliefs—but what would you know you insufferable bitch? You were too busy licking Pothead and weasel's ass to notice!" With that, Draco rushed off outside her room, his robe noisily flying up behind him and following him.

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger was dumbstruck.

**A/N: You wanna curse your lifelong object of hatred? Spit it on his/her face! You wanna 'fess up your crush? Say it on his/her face! You like/hate this story? Say it in a reviewwwww!!**


	2. The Rise of the Newer Evil

**Disclaimer: I don't own any characters you are familiar with. Rowling does. But plot's mine.**

**A/N: Disappointed by no reviews...ugh...**

**Short chapter, I know. Next chapters will DEFINITELY be longer, I promise. **

Chapter 2: The Rise of the Newer Evil

Harry Potter woke up with a start, jumping up in horror on his bed. These nightmares—they never left his head. They haunted him every time he tried to sleep.

He should have been ecstatic—relieved after winning the war. Nightmares should have never annoyed him. But there it was—the unsettling feeling in his gut ever since he had won the war and finished Voldemort. For days, Harry had been experiencing it. Whenever he came in hold of his wand, he had this raging impulse to Avada every Muggleborn in his vicinity, whereas even he knew that he had never had anything against Muggleborns. In fact, he had a best friend who was Muggleborn.

Hermione.

That is why he had been staying away from her. So that he did not impose any sort of danger on him.

Also, knives and objects as such obtained him with a sudden urge to kill and conquer. What were these feelings? Harry Potter, epitome of goodness, was completely divorced and foreign to these urges. Only when his scar communicated with Voldemort, he could sense urges common to these.

In Voldemort, but never in himself.

He needed to find out, and very soon.

With that thought, he rushed to the library for information. He knew that he might need to sneak around in the Restricted section, so he put on his Invisibility Cloak. Madam Pince looked up at him from the noise of his scuttling, but seeing no one she returned to her reading. This time, Harry moved a little carefully, minimizing the amount the sound produced. He almost coughed from the dust from the neglected book covers, but covered his mouth promptly to muffle it in his throat. Looking through books for what seemed like hours, Harry finally found something that left his eyes to stare at the page like saucers. _No, this couldn't be. I have to go see Dumbledore._

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Hermione was scared. For the first time in her life, she had actually screwed up something so badly. She was always so calculating that her words or actions barely ever made her regret them. And finally the holy regret had touched its last untouched victim, and on whose account?

Draco Malfoy. The one person Hermione dedicated all indifference to.

It was the chilliest winter evening of that year. Hermione wrapped a shawl tightly around herself as she walked through the hallways. Only a few other students lingered around—mostly couples. The 

sight of these teenagers immersed in love with each other gave rise to a pang of longing in Hermione's chest. Although she was different—strong and intelligent and charming in her own way, she longed for a love that was not platonic.

Appreciation. Attraction. Love.

They never made contact with her, ever. No boy ever told her she was beautiful—stared deep into her caramel eyes and said that he loved her. No boy would ever sing a sonnet while she stood in her balcony. Hermione longed for her type—sweet, caring, charming and smart, someone who challenged her. Attraction was something that she considered a luxury for herself. Harry was off with Ginny, and Ron with Lavender. She had always thought Ron was the one, and even considered believing that her love for Ron might not be platonic. The looks on their faces when the couples kissed, when they enjoyed each other's company, when they laughed at each other's jokes, the way tingles ran down their spines when their arms brushed...it looked like heaven. And she wanted heaven.

... No boy would ever sweep her off her feet...

Just that someone did.

She felt herself soaring up in the sky...on a broom. Okay, she was scared. She was acrophobic. She hated flying...

_I didn't wish it in the literal sense, Fairy Godmother._

Strong arms held her tightly around her torso as the broom flew in turbo speed. She could feel something tingly on her neck—hot breath. A deep masculine voice growled in her ear as his chin almost rested on her shoulder and his cold alabaster cheek against hers:

"Watch where you walk, Granger."

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Harry could not believe this. Dumbledore had actually confirmed a possibility of what he had feared.

_A piece of Voldemort's soul entered his body when Voldemort was destroyed._

It was playing on the deepest sins in Harry, inflating them slowly. Even Harry was not untouched by some inherent darkness of human soul. A good person is one who is ruled by the light in his soul and his darkness suppressed, a bad person being the exact opposite. Harry was the former, but now this—_this thing—_would turn him into the former.

_I can't believe this._

Harry rushed off to the secluded boy's dormitory. He needed some time to himself... some time to settle with this unnerving discovery.

**A/N: REVIEWWWW!!**


	3. The Despised Unexpected

**Disclaimer: The characters aren't mine, they're Rowling's. Plot however is mine.**

**A/N: I'm glad you people like this. However, I'm looking around for those petty grammatical and spelling mistakes. I'd appreciate if you would specify my mistakes in reviews. That way it all becomes easier.**

**And I was planning to make this something around 25-30 chapters, but this may vary depending on the amount of appreciation it receives. Hehe.**

**Btw I need you people to vote for other minor pairings to include in story. A Blaise/Ginny will be there, although it will initially start out as Harry/Ginny. For Ron/Lavender...should it stay that way or something else? Other suggestions will be counted too!**

**And forgive me for a not-so-satisfactory chapter. I'll super-busy AND I have writer's block. Beautiful.**

**Oh and I won't be uploading for about 10 days max. Going out of town. I'll still try to do something with this through my cellphone...**

**On with the story.**

Chapter 3: The Despised Unexpected

Harry did not know what to do. His brain was sorting itself into segments, each suggesting different ways to fix the mess, and each time getting trashed away in some corner considering how absurd and futile they were. Dumbledore only said that this was a war only he could fight, an equation only he could solve.

_Dang it!_

It was one thing to fight this evil antagonist who was standing in front of you. What could you do to an evil antagonist who was raging in your own veins?

Suddenly, that same scathing anger rose in the pit of his stomach. Bile seemed to rise up to his throat, and his blood seemed to heat up to a few more degrees. He had to release it...the lava...all volcanoes had to release lava...

With full force, Harry kicked the four-poster bed. Although he ended up with a bruised toe, the isght of the bruise gave him a kind of sheer pleasure-- a kind of pleasure elicited only from a sense of accomplishment.

_I have hurt, and I have left an effect of my power._

In the new kind of powerfulness that now reigned his mind, Harry reflected upon all the past events of his life. Now he saw it all from a different perspective, so different...

First it was his mother. How could anyone be as stupid as give her life up for someone else? Love, they say it was. One heck of an emotion, that. It could brainwash a brainless dolt. Harry smirked to himself, thinking how it could be used to manipulate people. Then he mentally addressed a hollow note of gratitude to his dead mother. She _was _the reason he was alive. Of course, she would wail and beat her head against the wall today if she was alive to see her son become what he was transforming into now, but what she dowsn't know—would never know—won't hurt her.

Ron and Hermione...his best friends. But they would never support him in this, would they? And wasn't that what friends were for? Supporting you? He decided he would forget about them and leave them to their own business. What good had they done to him anyway? They were one of the suppressants of this new, dark sense of emerging power in him. They were the reason he was powerless now. Idiots. The idealistic bookworm and the goofball with their angelic ideas. Whatever. Although Harry _had _mentally thrown them away now, a pang of guilt still crossed his chest. But he soon shook it away, as if it was nothing.

Ginny. That girl really did intrigue him. Her red hair, the way she walked in mesmeric feminine rhythm, her bashfulness...but instead of that warm fuzzy feeling that usually rose inside him at her thought, it was more of a burning desire to possess.

He remembered how he had defeated Voldemort. Before his Killing Curse had hit the master of darkness, he remembered how tingly an urge of conquering had coursed through his blood when Voldemort had laughed a deep laugh. Every decibel of that sound contained arrogance, power and satisfaction. Now that Harry thought about it...oh yes. Resorting to darkness—it had given Voldemort everything he could ask for—followers, power and respect. People feared him, bowed down to him. He had come and conquered, and if it was not for Harry himself he would be ruling the world by now. Emerald green eyes sparkled at the thought. An uncharacteristic sneer spread across the lines of his face, that also resembled a scowl in some way. But no, Harry wasn't scowling. He was smiling in pleasure, because this time—

_There would __**be **__no Harry Potter to defeat the darkness._

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"Huh?" Hermione asked in a dazed and distant voice, all the same working out that the person holding her was none other than Draco Malfoy.

"You were on practice ground, dunderhead," he said, "the Bludger was about to knock out your lights."

Hermione would retort at the insult at her, but somehow, his proximity shut her up. Her breathing was becoming a little ragged and drawn, much to her surprise. She assumed that Malfoy took it to be a result of the shock from being caught off ground so abruptly, and she would not want his assumption to wander any other way. She slightly drew her head a little backwards and turned, so 

that her nose only barely brushed against the smooth skin of his cheek upon turning. She could smell him—masculine cologne suppressing any perspiratory odour from long hours of Quidditch practice. But beyond that, she could smell _his _scent. He smelled like...the woods in autumn, and maybe accentuated with hints of ebony and mahogany...musky, strong but not sharp, and heady...

_Shit! What am I doing??_

As if to prove the taboo in her deed, Malfoy turned towards her and raised an eyebrow in a perfect arch. _That actually looks quite sexy on him. No! Shut up voice!_

"Stop sniffing me. I know I smell good." But at the same time, he became a little self-concerned and bent his head a little to smell himself.

_No odour, thank Merlin._

Hermione had yet to tear her eyes away off him. She had noticed this little motion of his. She tried hard to stifle her laughter but if Hermione Granger had always succeeded in everything she did in her life, this was one instance where her effort failed. Unable to control herself any longer, Hermione burst out into a fit of laughter.

"WHAT GRAN—"

It was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. So many girls had swooned over the gorgeous Draco Malfoy. No wonder he had heard so many girls laugh. But usually, they were artificial giggles at something Draco said when he did not even intend to make it funny. "Oh Draaaaakie you're so _funny!" _they would gush.

But this...whatever he was hearing right now, it was much more than the other feigned laughs. It was pure and innocent, and it resembled the gurgling of a stream. It was melodious...ethereal even—like music from the heavens. It reminded him of little tinker bells ringing and chiming unanimously, rain pattering down on smooth grass blades of the Quidditch pitch. There was nothing all feminine about it, but that again was explained by the fact that it sprouted from pure happiness—it was real. A real laugh.

"You're such a girl! Sissy!" She continued laughing.

"Want proof?"Breaking out of his reverie, Malfoy danced his eyebrows suggestively and smirked. "You've been doubting my gender way too much these days."

This just made her double over in laughter, and he suddenly felt an unfamiliar lightness in his chest.

But suddenly, she looked at him, and slowly ceased laughing. Malfoy looked at her questioningly.

"You're just going to go around making fun of how the Mudblood has an infernal and ear-splitting laugh, aren't you?" She asked, in a sad voice. Glum washed away the creases that had formed around her eyes and lips from incessant hard laughter.

"N—"

"You're Malfoy, isn't that reason enough for you to do it? You hate me. And the feeling's mutual!" Her voice rose a few notches in the last sentence.

"Yes it is, Granger!" he lost his temper and barked. "Don't even expect me to ever like you. Why would I? You're an annoying, bitchy, ugly, insufferable know-it-all Mu—" he shut himself up.

But it was too late. He knew he had already blown it. She just muttered a faint "See?" and dismounted the broom that had already landed. Consoling herself that there was no one else on the pitch to witness their little encounter, her retreating figure never saw a stop while sprinting through the hallway. A dumbfounded Draco Malfoy was left behind to watch it disappear, his hurt ego healing itself, his rage cooling sown and a feeling akin to guilt boiling in the depths of his soul, although he could not name the foreign emotion on his own.

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Ginny Weasley nervously walked along the corridor in small steps. In her quivering hands she held a flower. For Harry Potter. She was going to tell him she liked him. Yes! She would do it today; she was determined. Ginny was closely inspecting the flower and the tip of the index finger trailed along each petal of the flower caressing them gently. But then, she bumped into something large and fell the hard concrete floor. She rubbed her aching back "Oh I'm sorry I didn't—"

She looked up to see who it was. Blaise Zabini.

She stared at him with saucer eyes. With her five footer stature and being the only girl with such short height alongside Hermione, she felt like nothing against the six feet three guy. He had a tanned olive skin. His hair was black and cut in bangs, with covered one eye, only accentuating the already mysterious aura of the Italian boy—no cut that—man. He had a broad shoulder and a muscular body, but not so much that it rippled or anything—just very nicely toned and impressively lithe. His deep green eyes—not like Harry's emeralds—were so deep they could be qualified as black.

_Whoa..._

Blaise chuckled at the girl sprawled on the floor, realizing she was checking him out. Ginny flushed in mortification and silently hoped for the ground to split apart so that she could plunge through the crack and keep falling forever. Blaise chivalrously offered her a hand. Ginny muttered a barely audible thanks and took it. Immediately, both gasped at the contact. Something...something crackled and sparks flew...sending tingles of bubbling joy down their spines...

Ginny kept on gaping at their intertwined hands. Blaise tried to seem stoic but a slight tension was evident in him. Ginny snapped out of it and quickly got up to run for her life.

"Hey!" He called from behind.

_This is so embarrassing...I ran and now he's calling me...I RAN! I RAN!! What the hell??That was so stupid of me! I RANNNNN!!_

Blaise advanced towards her in smooth, slithering movement. "You forgot the flower for Potter, Weasley."

"Oh, thanks," Ginny said, a little surprised at how he knew.

"I'm pretty observant you know," Blaise said, his lips curling up in a slight smile. _Nice, masculinely pink lips...not too plump not too thin...kissable...yeah that was the summary of it all... _Ginny thought, but then kicked herself mentally.

"Oh."

With that, Ginny turned her back to him and walked away. No boy had ever made her feel this way. The crackling thing, the immediate feeling that she could talk to him and definitely have a good time..._The flower could be given some other day._

Both their hearts revelled for two Muggle things these unfamiliar witch and wizard had just discovered about unknowingly—Electricity and Chemistry.

**A/N: Like or hate...just review...pretty pleaaaaase??**


	4. Reminiscence and Regression

**Disclaimer: I own just the plot and the Sanctitas Charm.**

**A/N: Sorry for the long wait people. I was disappointed by no reviews for the last chapter. I'd sincerely hope you reviewed for this one, it really helps.:)**

**I'd been away for a long time and no, the cellphone could do nothing about the updates. Also, the nil number of reviews discouraged me. Thus the slow update. **

**The story, since you haven't voted, will have a LOT of pairings in it. Just for the different doses of flavours. Tee-hee.**

Chapter 4: Reminiscence and Regression

The evening sun was almost setting on the grounds of Hogwarts. Everything looked like it was on fire, and the chilly winter breeze that was absent for the few hours of afternoon returned in full fervour. All the Hogwartians had sought refuge in the warmer common rooms, chatting away merrily; except the Slytherins who were too busy planning which first year to pick on next.

The end of the war had pretty much consummated in the _evil _to be drawn out of everyone. The Slytherins were still cunning, callous and devoid of humane feelings, but none of them were actually as evil as to kill off people and sorts. Although most of their parents had been Death Eaters, they were teenagers and had yet to suit themselves comfortably to killing and heinous sins of the same kind. The relief that had emanated from the end of the war had let these pressurized teenagers be what teenagers are supposed to be: carefree, fun-loving and company-seeking.

Blaise Zabini. The boy who had always hated Muggleborns, now realized, and made everyone realize, that it was circumstances that led him to feel so strongly against them. Now that the circumstances had been wiped away from the sheet of glass, Blaise could see better, and although past bitterness still hit him at the back of his head, he had eventually coped up with the fact that they were not _that _bad.

Pansy Parkinson. She was a slut as ever, but she had always been so easily influenced and so incapable of thinking for herself, that she soon forgot her very great loathing for others out of her "Me-likey" list and although like Blaise a twinge of dislike still existed, she had given up on boiling her bile in a body-internal cauldron every time she saw someone she was expected to impede on by her royal pride. She still had her annoying voice, though.

The others like Millicent Bulstrode and Theodore Nott went through the same kind of transition. Crabbe and Goyle were just too thick-headed to ever form an opinion for themselves and just believed what their superiors did (to be honest they were pathetic enough to be considered minors). That leads to their former "master", Draco Malfoy.

As the wagon of the evening sun carried on riding southwards and the frosty wind was beginning to dominate its abandoned territory, a boy who had recently developed into a man innately and was thoroughly unaffected by the liveliness that had affected all the others, sat on a secluded platform of rocks beyond the lake which now looked like a creased sheet of never-ending crimson muslin, and concealed well by the thickening mass of trees so that no trace of civilization could disturb his pensive serenity. Blond bangs swept across his porcelain forehead. Some fell into his eyes, sometimes obscuring his view of the gorgeous scenery. But he was not concentrating on that; his mind centred around completely different things altogether. His platinum grey eyes with specks of green no longer had that mischievous fire in them; they were forlorn and drowned in a pool of mourning and repentance. He felt like he had been given the Dementor's Kiss—soul sucked in from within leaving him hollow. Draco Malfoy, a boy of only nineteen, had been robbed off all substantial elements that made up human soul to leave a broken man behind. He wished a _Reparo_ spell could fix it. But he knew wishes did not come true. For him they never did.

He wished he was never a Malfoy. He wished he was never the Pureblood who had to spill blood to keep the name of his own blood. He wished his mother got the love, care and respect she truly deserved—both from her son and husband. He wished his father was not a Death Eater who blindly and blatantly acted upon sins that made everyone shudder even if they heard of them. He wished he did not have to kill his father. And he wished for this...thing. He didn't know what though, all his life he had been divorced from it and never been introduced to it. He knew something was missing, but he couldn't put his finger on exactly what. A part of him said, _What's to be missing when there _is _nothing? _But another part of him, the part ruled by his Malfoy arrogance said, _Nothing's missing. A Malfoy has everything to be asked for._

He recalled every single bit from the war that had registered itself onto his head. Heads separated from shoulders. Throats slit in gashes, oozing blood and life with it as every second passed. People writhing in pain from the Cruciatus. Some were put under the Imperius and forced to kill even their own mothers, and ended up killing themselves later in guilt. Some threw their internals up through their mouth. Draco felt a fresh wave of nausea hit him, and with much difficulty he refrained himself from vomiting. He had once heard Lucius say that Voldemort did not allow raping, because he though it would "stir carnal desires in his followers, and that would be a distraction". Draco had snorted at that time. He knew that everyone in the Wizarding World had a special kind of Charm—the Sanctitas Charm-- put on him or her on birth, which resisted any kind of forced action on the body. It was only put down when the person was willing. Now he thanked his luck that he did not 

have to witness something like that. As if the sense of nausea was not already bad enough, it would just get way beyond control if he had to witness innocent men and women getting raped.

Draco remembered Lucius' last words: "So this was my destiny, my death in my own son's hands. Bravo, Draco, I know today I have taught you well."

Draco knew it was a sardonic remark, because Lucius had been the one who had almost handed him and his mother over to Voldemort. Draco had refused the Dark Mark a day earlier, and Narcissa had refused to convince him otherwise. Now they were to be punished, as Lucius had stated it.

_What a father, _he thought.

He had saved himself. No, his mother had saved him. After several excruciating Crucios, Voldemort was about to Avada him. His mother had jumped in front of him and took the curse. He had stared at his mother's once brilliant eyes, dimming away as the life slipped out of her. She was mouthing words that roughly indicated Draco to run away in a hoarse dying voice. Draco was too shocked to respond, but despite his bleeding heavy feet, he forced them to drag him somewhere to a place of safety. But he could bet anything he had heard the same voice mutter in between her last breaths: "i love you Draco."

He couldn't cry. He just couldn't. It was all so badly pent up inside him. He wanted to let it all out, but Draco Malfoy had his heart put in a bottle with a stopper put in by the force of darkness itself, and even he could not open it.

Draco Malfoy craved for his skies to see light after such a century of darkness. He wanted innocence; he wanted someone to restore substance into his soul and wash and scour his soul thoroughly of all the blemishes. He had had enough of deaths and spillage of blood; no more, he begged; _no more._

He felt like slapping himself at times. He was supposed to be so hated and so evil that he had made Hermione Granger, the epitome of goodness, stop laughing. Her melodious and innocent laughter was put to an end by Draco Malfoy, and she thought he would do something malicious by the information he gathered from company. Was he really so bad? Really?

He wished he could scratch that Malfoy at the end of his name at times.

He had even stopped calling Muggleborns by the name "Mudblood". Two reasons existed for his paradigm shift. Lucius Malfoy had told him Muggles and Muggleborns were barbaric, uncivilized and intellectually incompetent, and also that their blood stank foul and looked greenish blue.

But Draco had seen their blood spill, and it was the same as his blood—every Pureblood's blood. And speaking of the other three adjectives they had been described with—Draco had come across Muggle technology during the war—it was brilliant. Another proof was Hermioen granger herself—who had beaten every Pureblood of her age in the race of intelligence. And barbaric...

Draco Malfoy had sought shelter in a Muggle's house when Narcissa had told him to run. A middle-aged couple had heartily opened the door to him. Even when he had told them he was the son of a Death Eater they had said: "Oh poor boy, you are just a child! And children have the most innocent hearts—they are cherubs of God!"

Draco did not know how to respond. He disagreed in his head, but curtly nodded. When the woman noticed his wounds, she hugged him tightly and a few drops of tears escaped her eyes. This startled Draco a little. The woman did not even know him and there she was, crying at his pain. The father quickly got some Muggle medicine. Draco would refuse otherwise, but his wounds hurt too much. The parental gestures affected him a lot. He felt...touched.

After he said thanks and left, Draco turned around to see two hooded men rap on their door. It didn't take him ling to recognize who they were. Death Eaters.

Upon opening the door one of them asked, "Did the blond boy by the name Draco Malfoy come here?"

The Muggle man nodded in negative. The Death Eaters said something consisting the words "liar" and "track", and Avada-ed them before Draco could do anything.

They died because of him, and he could never get over the guilt. _If only I had acted faster..._

They were Muggles, but the kindest of the lot. Barbaric? Never.

After the war, the Muggles had been Obliviated and all records that could remind them of all the incidents were destroyed. Good for them, they did not have remember all the terrible scenes they witnessed. Draco wished he was Obliviated too.

The sun had now set completely beyond the horizon, and Draco could hear the curfew bell screech loudly. He proceeded to get up, at the same time making a resolution to avoid Hermione Granger as much as possible. She was just bringing back sour memories to him in full force and messing with his head. And even if she did come around, he would just act the sneering evil boy she expected him to be.

After all, Malfoys never let anyone's expectations down. And that is what Draco had done throughout his entire life: live up to expectations. It had ruined his life, but there was no harm in ruining a life already in ruins, was there?

**A/N: Like it or hate it, just review!! PLLLLLEAAAASSSSE?? pouty face**

**Sanctitas means "purity" or "chastity" in Latin. I checked a Web dictee but if anyone finds a mistake with this or anything else in the story, lemme know.**

**Although not the AU parts. I disregarded some stuffs from the books.**

**Next Chapter (sneak-peak):**

More Blaise Zabini and Ginny Weasley interaction and a sort of hint-hint towards another pairing.:D Also Harry Potter coming up to the surface with...plots. Ouch.

**P.S. I need help naming the next chapter. Help please? And also, should the next chapter also be loaded with DMHG interaction (non-romantic mind you. I mean bickering) or should that wait for the chapter after the next chapter?**


	5. Plots and Collisions

**Disclaimer: Plot and Wagon Warriors (lame name I know) belong to me. Everything else you recognize belong to Rowling.**

**A/N: Aye aye aye! You people finally review! Angel 737 and bRe IFHLP...I love you. Positive. And bRe...your idea for the chapter name will be implied in one the coming chapters, 'kay? Till then, read, enjoy and REVIEW!!**

**Another long chapter. Yeep:D**

Chapter 5: Plots and Collisions

Blaise Zabini blankly stared at the ceiling. The Slytherin common room was bustling with lively conversation, but Blaise found himself to be a part of none. Around him in a circle, Pansy, Daphne, Theodore, Crabbe, Goyle and Millicent were indulged in a very heated conversation.

"NOOO I DO NOT!" Daphne squealed.

"Yes you do! I saw you staring at Weasley during breakfast. The pumpkin juice was dripping out of the corners of you mouth while you were drooooooooling over him!" Millicent declared in between croaky laughs. Blaise looked up a little at the mention of "Weasley" but after he caught on and figured it was Ronald they were talking about, he went back to his thoughts.

"Maybe you do that yourself fatass!" Daphne retorted.

"Yeah fatass! Like so fat that you were late to Potions because your ass got stuck in the doorway!" Crabbe said.

Everybody got a renewal to their dying laughter at that.

"Yeah and then people already in the room got stuck behind her and then she farted and the room exploded!" Goyle barked out laughing at his own "wit".

Everyone stopped laughing at that, and stared at Goyle as if he was a fly who had just flown out of a garbage can.

"You didn't have to say that Goyle. You just ruined it." Crabbe commented with the same expression retaining on his face.

"Now that the merriments are over, I can get back at all of you!" Millicent chased after Crabbe. The castle shook at the rapid motion of two of the biggest masses in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

"Err...anyways. As all that was happening, I was thinking about something." Theodore Nott said.

"And what would that be, Theo?" Pansy snapped, a little irritated by how he was beating around the bushes.

"You see, Weasley is the biggest fool to ever walk the face of this earth."

"Duh Nott, like we didn't know that already!" Daphne said with a dismissive snort.

"Will you let me finish, Daph?" Nott said in an exasperated voice.

"Fine."

"So, as I was saying. Weasley is the biggest dunderhead anyone has ever seen. And he's _dating _the biggest dunderhead anyone has ever seen—Brown. More like his female counterpart, she is. And as you know, we're always up for some good destruction, aren't we?" Theodore danced his eyebrows.

Pansy though for a minute, then suddenly her face started glowing maliciously. "Nott, I love you."

Theodore blushed a little. "Don't say that in front of my girlfriend. Oh no wait, say that in front of my girlfriend! I'm tired of Belinda anyways." He mumbled.

Pansy rolled her eyes and said something that strangely resembled "slag".

"Look who's talking."

Pansy was about to hex him and already had a strong ready grip on her wand, but Daphne held her back.

"Now. Now. Back to your pretty plot."

"Uhhh...what plot?" Crabbe asked with a blank expression on his face.

"Dumbass."

"See...we're trying to break Weasley and Brown up in here."

"Noo...maybe we should add a little bit of twist to that." Pansy put up her conniving sneer. Blaise rolled his eyes.

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"Blaise? Mate? You approve of the plan?" Theodore asked after finding him alone.

"Whatever."

"Ohk...I think I should leave you alone. But what is up with you and Draco these days?"

Blaise had noticed his best friend's absence but did not dig it much thinking that he would get to know about it eventually. "I don't know."

"Seeing any...girls?" Theodore smirked.

Blaise shot him a glare. Theodore backed off. "Okay okay mate, if you're so possessive about her...I'll make sure she's not my new girlfriend anytime soon."

Blaise looked at him that clearly said, "Dude, you want me to take you to St Mungo's? They've got a section for mental patients there."

Theodore seemed to interpret his look perfectly. "Oh right. You haven't got hormones. Sorry dude."

Blaise was honestly seething right now. "Just because I do not date, doesn't mean I haven't got hormones."

"One night stands, I see."

"Those neither. I woudn't appreciate being a slag like you."

"So there are no proof of your hormones. Oh no, you're waiting for _the one!" _Theodore roared in laughter. "The whole soulmate thing! Laugh out loud... Blaisey wants a soulmate...Hey mate, soulmates only end up to be your solemates. All you get in the end is the dirt of their heels. Why bother?" He sniggered.

Blaise realized it wouldn't be much of a point paying any heed to Theodore, so he simply turned around and tuned him out. Although, that was not entirely necessary, considering how Theodore had already left.

He stepped out of the hallway, and walked towards the Quidditch pitch. He convinced him it was a voluntary action, but deep inside, he hoped to see a flaming red head that had been whirling in his mind for the past few days.

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Hermione hummed a little tune to herself as she sat in the library. It has never happened before that she could not concentrate on her reading. But today, she just did not feel like reading. But she did not want to leave the library either, because she knew she would just be bombarded with either Quidditch conversations or worse...

Couple sightings.

She did not want to go over that hollow feeling again, and brushed it off quickly. Instead, thinking of friends, her mind diverted to Harry. He had not been acting quite himself lately. He barely talked, and tried to avoid her and Ron alike. He returned to his dormitory late and as far as words went around, he spent the evening under his blanket, not looking up to join a conversation for once. His breakfast plate was always full by the end of the meal, and when Ron would ask if he would eat that he would pass it up silently without throwing a tantrum claiming possession over the food like he usually would. Ron would jus raise an eyebrow at him, then shrug and take down Harry's leftover, which was hardly _leftover _since he ate nothing. His chin was getting adorned by stubbles, and although that earned him a lot of admiring gazes from the female population nowadays, Hermione knew very well that this was not a good sign. His robes, instead of lightly clinging to his muscular body nowadays slumped in nebulous emptiness. His ribs would jut out at times, clearly signalling he had not had a nutritious diet in ages.

She was determined to find out what was wrong with his best friend, and what Hermione Granger decided to do, she _would _do.

While she was making a myriad of guesses at what could actually have gone wrong so badly with Harry Potter, she realized that most of her guesses ended up sauntering around two words: girl trouble.

"Thinking about Potter, eh Granger?"

The voice. The annoying, exasperating, horrible, unwanted voice of Draco Malfoy.

"Why do you care?"

"Oh, because I've been fancying you for quite a long time now, Granger." He rolled his eyes.

"Oh really? Too bad it's impossible to have both my ring finger _and _middle finger dedicated to the same person."

"Tsk, tsk, Granger. If it were not for our encounter at the station, I would be shocked by such words of...unprudishness."

"Sod off Malfoy."

"As much as I would understand how you and the library have been married now for quite a long time after a long clandestine and...steamy relationship," Hermione gasped in rage, causing Draco to snigger, "I can't help but I may have some business with your spouse."

"Just because you get turned on by inanimate objects doesn't mean I do too!" Hermione said, still seething in fury.

An offended look glazed Draco's otherwise stoic silver eyes for a moment, but he soon regained composure. "Whatever Granger. Just so you know, your husband has been cheating on you. It seems like Madam Pince and your husband have been doing some naughty things lately." Draco sneered.

Hermione rolled her eyes and looked down back on her book.

"As much as I know how anyone could just _not _cheat on you, ugly, short, unattractive and terribly boring as you are, Madam Pince..." he feigned a shudder.

A definite hurt crossed Hermione's face. Tears stung her eyes and threatened to fall, but she was adamant she would not let Draco Malfoy, her mortal enemy, see them.

"What're you reading Granger? "How to turn on guys"? "How to increase your sex appeal in 10 days"? "How to not be boring and get a life"?" Draco sneered wider if possible.

"SHUT UP MALFOY!" Hermione screamed. "Seems like you're _very _well acquainted with named books! Could you just stop acting like a jerk for once in your life??" With that, Hermione looked away and bit her lips to fight a final, already lost battle with her tears.

"What's going on?" Madam Pince demanded.

"Nothing, Madam Pince." Hermione assured her. She hoped Madam Pince did not walk up here to see her in this state. Luckily for her, Madam Pince recognized Hermione's voice and she was ell assured by the voice of her very responsible student.

Hermione went over everything that had been disturbing her for some time now. She was Harry Potter's _sidekick_. She only had a brain full of knowledge, nothing else. She was ugly. She was a Mudblood who did not even belong in the Wizarding World _or _in the Muggle World. She was short. She could never land a decent guy if she wanted. She had always dreamt she would find a soulmate someday...a Prince Charming. Fiction...all absurd fiction. She felt like killing herself right then for ever believing in those absurd things. But she saw a better option awaiting.

"Are you a Death Eater, Malfoy? Because if you are, please kill me right now. Do me the favour."

Draco looked at her, flabbergasted.

Hermione had let go of the whole soulmate thought. She had given up any hope that she would find a "happily ever after" with a guy. She also quickly started believing that she was smart, intelligent and all the other things other girls could not be. And then, Hermione kicked herself mentally for letting go of her ever-sturdy self-confidence for even once. She felt that talking about her weaknesses would make her less of a strong personality.

Little did she know that the person in front suffered from the same misconception.

"I'm not a Death Eater, Granger." He walked away silently, and Hermione could bet her life that she saw a lone tear escape the corner of his eye.

Her next hour went away on pondering over a pair of beautiful silver eyes that had their virginity of stoicism taken away from them by a single drop of tear.

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Ron sat around his Quidditch teammates, chattering lively about the latest victory of Chudley Cannons.

"That was an awesome goal by the way. The way he dodged the Keeper of Wagon Warriors..."

"I know! That was something!" Demelza Robins, Chaser for the Gryffindor team, gushed. She had pallid blue eyes, a sunburnt skin with numerous freckles, a total tomboy-- and yet a kind of beauty streaked her face-- a kind that sourced from a life being well enjoyed.

"Err Ron, how are we going to stand a chance against Slytherin if Harry is going to ditch practice like he has been?" Dean Thomas, the other Gryffindor Chaser asked.

"I don't know man. He's been a little weird lately. I guess, Ginny could play in his place" Ron gave a worried expression. He had sensed a kind of change in his best mate, and had yet to figure out what was wrong. He was planning on getting up and talking to Hermione about this, when suddenly—

Two owls, making their way at a competitive speed towards Ron, landed two pieces of parchment on his lap.

"What's that Ron?" Demelza asked.

"I don't know, haven't opened 'em yet..."

What Ron read caused him to go bonkers.

**A/N: Don't mumble that comment/critique to yourself. Get yourself to be heard. Raise your voice. REVIEW!!**


	6. Catfights and Horrors

**Disclaimer: Plot: mine. Characters: Rowling's.**

**A/N: Thanks for the reviews and favourite adds people! And lol bRe IFHLP. Btw does your nickname stand for anything?**

**This chapter is a little rushed over, but not to worry. If you are confused about anything, just write in a review and I will make sure it is explained in the next chapter.**

**I also realized I have been sidetracking a lot from the main pairing. So a lot more of DMHG to come, and of course, the missing BZGW interaction will be there too. Ron-lovers...not to worry. He'll still be there.**

Chapter 6: Catfights and Horrors

"What _is _it, Ron?" Dean asked in an impatient voice.

Ron's face fell in horror. He could not believe what he just read. This could not be happening. It was all a silly prank. A silly Slytherin prank. He knew it. It could not be anything else other than that. In a paralyzed motion, Ron handed the two scrolls of parchment to Dean. Demelza scooted over to Dean's side, carefully taking one of them in her hands, while both read the corresponding parchments, each of their faces revealing nothing but pure shock as they read on to the bottom.

The other teammates urged to get them to tell what it was. Ron made a face which clearly reprimanded them from doing so. After waiting around to see if any piece of information could be extracted, they gave up and went back to the castle to meet their friends.

"Dude...whoaaa..."

They read the parchment again and again, and still could not convince themselves this was actually happening. The first parchment read:

_Dear Ronnikins,_

_I have waited for so long to finally tell you how I feel. Now that the war is finally over, I cannot wait to tell you. I love you, Ronnikins. My heart belongs to only and only you and I would fight a thousand wars like the one that has passed to make you mine. That Parkinson girl also claims to be in love with you, but choose me Ronald. You need a woman like me, not a silly bint like her. Once again, I love you and always will, and there is nothing in world that can separate us from each other. _

_Yours truly and with lots of love,_

_Daphne Greengrass._

The second parchment was even more dramatic:

_Dear Ronnie-poo _("Ronnie-poo! Oh Merlin! Like Drakey-poo wasn't bad enough!" Demelza roared in laughter, causing Ron to glare hard at her and tell her she wasn't being supportive as a friend should be).

_I see your flaming red hair everyday, and wonder if there could be anything as beautiful as it. When you barge in through the doors of the Great Hall, you bring in the sweetest fragrances of summer with your air. The stupid war had caused me to put my heart in a bottle, cork it up and set it afloat on sea. Now that the cause is gone, here I am, finally penning down my feelings on this trivial piece of parchment. I love you, Ronald Weasley. Please do not let that Greengrass bitch come near you. She is just going to hurt you and her feelings are not real like mine. I know I have been in a lot of relationships before but please do not let it affect your decisions. I now know that only you are man enough for me. I love you, and life without you is like being in Azkaban after a Dementor's kiss. Please grace my life with your presence and I will make you happy with my love._

_Forever yours,_

_Pansy Parkinson._

Both Demelza and Dean sat in complete shock along with Ron on the green Quidditch grounds, then suddenly...

They broke into roars of laughter. The incontrollable kind.

"WILL YOU STOP LAUGHING GUYS? IT'S NOT FUNNY!" Ron shouted over their laughter.

"Um, yes it is!" Both Demelza and Dean said in between rolling around in the grass with laughter.

"Fine. Whatever, guys." Ron sighed, and ran towards the castle with two pieces of parchments shoved away deep in either pockets of his Quidditch robes.

Upon reaching the Great Hall, Ron plopped onto his usual seat at the Gryffindor table.

"Hey honey, how was your day?" Lavender asked, her usual facade of a flashy smile still there on her face.

"Great," Ron answered, and gave a short smile.

"Of course it was!" a screeching feminine voice said from behind him. Ron almost jumped in his chair.

Daphne Greengrass.

"Het sweeeetieeee," Pansy Parkinson suddenly showed up and cooed. "And what are _you _doing here?" This scathing remark was, of course, directed at Daphne.

"I was talking to my _love _if you don't mind."

"Stay away from him. He's mine!"

"No he's not. He doesn't date bitches. Right Ronnikins?" Daphne batted her eyelashes.

"Hey! Stop this! In case you didn't know _I'm _his girlfriend!" Lavender yelled, glaring at both the girls and her boyfriend.

"Yeah like under a load of Amortentia...sure why not?" Pansy snorted.

"Like he would _ever _consider a bubblebrained bitch like you!" Daphne spat out.

"AAAARRRRGHHHH!!" Lavender screamed and plunged at them, wand in hand. The whole Great hall just stared in shock at the ongoing drama.

But the two had very quick reflexes too and pointed their wands at her.

"Expectro patronum!"

Lavender jumped backwards, but then laughed cynically, "That's for Dementors you idiots!"

"Oops, you sure look like one! Sorry!" Pansy retorted in a scathing voice. "now...where were we Ronnie-poo?"

"Just stay away from Ronnikins!" Daphne screeched. "Rictusempra!"

Pansy started giggling furiously at the Tickle Charm. "Oh stop it! Ow! Reducto!" She said, pointing her wand at a random direction not being able to focus due to her incessant laughter.

It hit Daphne and Lavender right at their chests together as they were standing very close to each other. Very interestingly, one side of each of their chests seemed way flatter than the other.

"BITCH!" Lavender yelled. Ron gaped at them in horror. Some of the boys tried to stifle their laughter in vain.

"Now now, Ron couldn't possibly go for girls with half their womanhood, could he?" Pansy said, her eyebrows dancing victoriously.

"Engorgio!" Both the victimized girls yelled, wands pointed at chests to counter Pansy's spell. Their faces were crimson red from embarrassment.

"Stupefy!" They shot at Pansy.

"Diffindo! Expelliarmus!" They jumped backwards in full force, wands flying out of their hands.

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" McGonagall's voice boomed throughout the hall as he slammed the doors open.

Ron gave him a blank look and nodded his head like a doggy on the dashboard.

"Would you care to explain, Parkinson?"

"Umm...umm..."

"Fifty points from Gryffindor and Slytherin each. Detention for a month every night. Understood? I'm highly disappointed in all of you!" With that and angry red-shot eyes, McGonagall stormed out of the Great Hall. Three of the "warriors" made their way out of the Great Hall too, but towards their corresponding common rooms.

"Oh bugger," Ron muttered, running his cold hands through his flaming red hair.

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Hermione slowly crept up to the boys' dormitory. On tiptoes, she carefully made her way to Harry's room, which he shared with three other boys. She had an Invisibility Charm over her, but it would wear off in a quarter of an hour, so she did not have much time to waste.

"Accio diary," Hermione silently whispered. She knew that Harry kept a diary which he did not let anyone read; not even his best friends.

The diary was charmed to not let in intruders, as Hermione had expected. She quickly performed some advanced revelation charms. What she read was _definitely _something she had not expected.

It had accounts of everything: how Harry had been feeling that dark streak in him and its horrendous development. _Maybe it's a prank, _she thought. But to confirm her fears, a pamphlet fell out of the diary.

Hermione bent over o pick it up, fear and apprehension shaking her fingers violently. She unfolded it.

_Moste Potente Dark Curses and how to Perform Them._

What she feared was really coming true. Voldemort had induced some of his soul into Harry. She recalled how he had been dangerously close to the Dark lord when he was defeated, and how a gleam of green had flickered and vanished around him.

"Hermione?" The very familiar voice with its strange unfamiliarity spoke behind her, startling her and causing her to drop the diary in a loud thud onto the marble floor.

"Uhh...hi Harry," Hermione asked weakly. _The Charm must have worn off earlier than expected..._

"What were you doing with my diary?" Anger laced his voice as he spotted the black book on the floor.

"Uhh...nothing Harry it's just..."

"CRUCIO!"

Hermione was thrust onto the floor, her head painfully colliding with the wall to reveal a crack in it and allow a stream of blood to flow away. She was more pained because all her hope, all her faith and trust in her best friend was dissipating so ridiculously. She still had harboured some hope that all this was a prank, but the Unforgivable definitely gave that away. She saw a fading retreating figure leave through the door, as the world went black in front of her.

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Draco wandered around the empty aisles between the dormitories. He had deftly snuck his way through into the Gryffindor dorm-rooms. When he was thinking about how he had caused Granger's laughter to fade away at his sight, his mind had retaliated in rage a Cruciatus at the girl. He was pretty sure it had done no harm to her as it was weak and he had immediately taken it back, but he could never be too sure. His father and many of his darker ancestors had harboured a power to perform long-distance wandless Curses on many victims, but since he had turned away from the Dark Side he had not been given the ability. Not that he even wanted it. He wanted nothing to do with the Dark Side at all.

So dismissing that thought, Draco kept walking through the isolated Gryffindor aisleways. It was comparatively warmer to the Slytherin ones, and decorated with much less darker artworks. _That is the difference after all, _he thought. Candles flickered up on both sides, indicating it had gone very dark outside and night had almost struck the skies of Hogwarts. He hurried forward, at the same time skimming both sides of him. Suddenly, he came across an open door. His curiosity took the better of him. He had always wanted to see a Gryffindor dorm-room and how it looked like. But little did he know that he would see much more than that.

"GRANGER?"

**A/N: Like it? Hate it? REVIEW!!**


	7. Guilt and Memories

**Disclaimer: Plot and all the shabby potions and curses and charms and all that I make up belong to me. Everything you recognize belongs to Rowling. That stupid excuse of a poem (more like a prose with line breaks) you see at the beginning. Mine. Who else would write something that bad? A songwriter, you say? Oh phooossshhhh...snorts**

**Forgive me for the bad poem.**

**A/N: Won't make this too long: bRe IFHLP, I will include that theory into the next chapter where the catfighters show up again, okay? ******

**Love my reviewers btw. Review and you will get a good and fast-updated chapter :P**

**Without further adieu... chapter seven.**

Here I am

Waiting with no trace of sleep

Adorning my window

Sleepless dreams

I pray with the only divine

That's left in my shadow

Wake up

The world is waiting for you

Wake up

Don't let my darkness wipe off your light

Wake up

You were never so cruel to hurt anyone

Wake up

You were never so driven to avenge me

So why today

You seem so set at it?

Here I am

Scouring my flawed soul in vain

And seeking redemption

Hopelessly

I search at your feet for my life

A piece of forgiveness

Wake up

Spare some from your endless mercy

Wake up

They need someone to worship

Wake up

I know I'm no God nor your love

But wake up

As you covet your innocence

So why today

You're letting go by being my murderer?

I can't bring you joy

I'd use it if I had some

I can't be your prince

Kiss you back from hollow

Maybe if you wake up

I'll be that self tomorrow

The self that we hate

But wake up...

My life is too hollow for you to keep

So wake up

And like the show-brave Gryffindor

Just stab to death my guilt.

Chapter 7: Guilt and Judgement

Draco sat in unfathomable silence by the bushy-haired Gryffindor's infirmary bed. Her eyebrows were furrowed even in her state of half-unconsciousness half-sleep, and thick eyelashes burdened with pain curtained the caramel eyes that always shot him livid looks when he was around her. Her prostrate form often broke the surface of its stillness by gagging and writhing. Blood would seep from the corners of her mouth due to the internal bleeding, and Madam Pomfrey had to come running to force a high dose of medicinal potion between her lips. Somehow, Madam Pomfrey had wanted to rush to one of the Heads and inform him or her about this, but decided against it. As she so precisely put it, she wanted Hermione to wake up first, and then she would prefer a full account of the incident from the victim. Despite her silence of the subject, Draco was certain she had been throwing daggers at him through her eyes. He bloody well deserved it. Why, may you ask?

Granger, the headstrong Gryffindor, was bowing her head to a possible painful death. And it was entirely his fault.

Him, Draco Malfoy, probable Death Eater, son of Voldemort's right hand Lucius Malfoy. Draco Malfoy, unable of humane feelings, divorced from that bloody organ in the left side of everyone's chest. Draco Malfoy. Merciless. Malevolent. Murderous.

His insides groaned and beat themselves against his skeleton in frustration. Why did this happen to him? The more he tried to climb out of the dark pit he had been thrown into ever since his childhood, the deeper he seemed to fall in. Why didn't anyone pick him up? Didn't they know he was so deathly scared of the dark?

No, of course they didn't. He absent-mindedly laughed a cold laugh at himself. He found the irony so satirically humorous—everyone around him took him to be one of their darkest peers, and there was, harbouring achluophobia deep inside him.

Suddenly, Madam Pomfrey barged in urgently with loud footsteps, snapping Draco out of his thoughts.

"Mr Malfoy, we have a serious problem. I have tried everything and yet, nothing seems to work on Miss Granger. It seems like the Cruciatus was performed on her by someone she was attached to immensely, and most probably even blindly trusted the caster. This caused all her defences, even the voluntary ones, to go down, causing a great deal of damage. I'm afraid we need your help. But before that, Mr Malfoy, did _you _perform the curse?" After saying all that in one breath, Madam Pomfrey asked sceptically.

The trust and attachment part threw Draco off a bit. _That couldn't be me..._

"I'm not too sure, Madam Pomfrey," Draco said, slightly perplexed.

Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow. "Well then, we shall wait for Miss Granger to wake up. But now, as for the help, are you willing.

Draco thought for a bit. It could be his fault for all he knew. Maybe he would end up in Azkaban, but at least he would have something done for his crime.

"I guess so."

"Very well then," Madam Pomfrey took a deep breath. "We need you to enter Miss Granger's head. I will give you the _Memoria Iunctio_ potion that will stir up your memories a little and bring up the most intense memory somehow related to the connected person. This, as I am hoping, will stimulate her brain to wake up. Am I clear?"

"Erm yes, I have heard about that sort of thing," Draco let out a hollow laugh. "But it's not going to work. I highly doubt how the slap of a memory is intense enough."

Mdam pomfrey let out a sigh. "but it's worth a try, Mr Malfoy. I don;t want to tell everyone, considering if this was done by someone..." she broke off. Draco knew exactly what she meant: Death Eater. "So this better stay within confinements. You are one of her worst enemies, sorry if I offend you," Draco nodded, confirming it was all right and that he too was not unknown of the fact, "there might be some memory between you that _might _work. Maybe she felt much moved or offended but never displayed it in front of you. I assure you, nothing personal, that is, nothing not related to her will not come up. Miss Granger is too bright to be given up on so quickly. If she passes away..."

If Madam pomfrey ahd any intention of making draco comply to her proposal, those words did it. The face that she would _die, _and _could die, _maybe because of him, caused mixed emotions of fear and guilt do a number on him.

He nodded in affirmative, and oblingingly gulped down the potion from the hands of a Madam Pomfey, who t that time looked a little better since she was a feeling satisfied and also a little more hopeful. His head went little dizzy, and the next moment, he felt like he was not in the infirmary anymore...

Achluophobia. The thought of his phobia caused his head to reel back into a cloudy haze of a memory, as if he had just dipped the tip of his finger into a Pensieve...

"_Daddy?" a young blond boy of six asked, his voice trembling just a little._

"_Yes?" The older man responded, his voice holding just the usual amount of coldness._

"_Daddy, when can we go home? I'm scared of the dark," the boy revealed his dilemma to his father._

"_Silence, boy! How you shame me today! Malfoys are scared of nothing!" The older man roared._

_Not quite comprehending why that was even a valid reason, the mercury silver eyes of the boy grew large and round, then narrowed again. "But I AM!" This time, tears slid down his cheeks, his watery eyes pleading even more._

"_Weakling! You truly have disgraced the Malfoy name! Fear of the dark! Tears! What have you brought upon us? Do you know how utterly shameful it would be if anyone, worse, the Dark Lord gets _

_to know about this? I tell you, once and for all, boy, do not ever speak of this to anyone ever again!" The man's voice thundered terrorizingly. The boy nodded his head in paralyzed motion._

_His tears never stopped, though. The darkness seemed to close in upon him. He whimpered silently. His heart started beating faster, and his pale skin went even paler. The darkness seemed to press upon his veins, sending all the blood down to his toes. A single tear connivingly managed to fall on the burly hand which was holding his small one._

"_That's it boy! Maybe...I have a perfect solution to your fears," the man's mouth twisted up in a sneer, baring his canines as if he were a hyena._

_The boy cringed away, his little palms balling into fists and pressing hard against his chest as if to slow down his rapidly beating heart. A larger volume of salty water tumbled out of his eyes, his whimpers rising a bit above a nil decibel this time..._

"_CRUCIO!" A shot of lighting struck the boy square into the chest._

_The boy screamed in pain. His insides twitched and wrung and constricted. He felt as if someone had cut a million deft gashes through each and every vein of his body._

"_Silence, weakling! We are in the Dark Lord's Headquarters!" That burly hand clamped his mouth shut so tightly, it felt like his oesophagus was tied by one of those expensive scarves he ad seen his mother wear. His baby-soft jaw seemed to get sucked into the nebulous depths of his mouth and beyond due to the pressure. He wanted to scream his pain out onto the face of the darkness, gag and writhe all he wanted, and spew out all the blood in him that had seemed to go sour and formed a gut-wrenching union with the bile in his liver. Some of it seemed to trickle out of the corners of his mouth, and made their way out through the gaps between the fingers of the burly hand. The older man continued chanting words of threat near his ear._

"_Weakling!" the man spat again and dragged across the cold stone floor deeper into the cave-like structure, a hand still pressing down on his trembling mouth._

_Then the boy saw it. A woman, with frazzled hair, tied to a bamboo pole. Some people in hoods like the one he saw his father...no cross that...that big scary man wear at times danced around her like maniacs. It reminded him of a tribal dance he had read about in a Muggle friend's book. Although, they were no longer friends because the big scary man had seen them playing together and beaten him up so bad that the scars took a whole year to disappear to some extent. Apparently, he wasn't supposed to talk to people without wands. He had no idea why._

_The scary hooded people kept yelling something that sounded like "Mudblood". The boy recalled perfectly where he had heard that before. The scary big man told him to not mix with something called "Muggles" and "Mudblood" after that beating._

_Then, the boy saw a scarier...creature come into the dark room. It had two upturned oval nostrils, no curve for a nose. Its eyes glowed red, not as prettily as his mother's ruby earrings, but like...coal on fire. To add to his already gaining fear of the cold darkness, it reminded him of blood oozing out of eyes. He shuddered .His ghostly pale skin revealing most of his red and blue veins did nothing to help either._

_The hooded people, including his big scary man, bowed down to him. The boy did too, but not in respect like the others, but just to look for an excuse to not look at that horrible face again._

"_Torture her, my loyal followers," the creature said in an equally spooky voice. His red mouth twitched up in a devilish sneer._

_Turning to the woman, he asked, "Think again, Mudblood. Join us and your life will be spared."_

"_I would never bow down to you!" The woman spat, and literally spat some saliva onto the ground nearby in disgust._

"_Then suffer!" The scary creature hissed._

_The hooded creatures kept shouting Crucios at her like the big scary man had done to him a while ago. He knew how that felt. But what surprised him was that despite all that pain, a kind of fire danced in her eyes. She stood strong, never even bending a knee, only her ace muscles contorting in pain. The boy wondered how someone could be so strong despite so many of those things shouted at her. He had only got one, and that pained him beyond his idea of pain. Someday, he decided, he would be that strong too. He felt a surge of energy inside his stomach. The woman's strength seemed to have induced into him somehow._

"_Now, Lucius, for the boy's part," the scary creature seethed out, this time his voice laced with a kind of pleasure, "another follower," he added._

"_Yes, my Lord." The big scary man pushed him forward. By that he could vaguely realize that by "boy", the scary creature meant him."Go, boy. Make me proud," the man hissed into his ear. The boy nodded._

"_Imperio!" The scary creature shouted at him._

_The boy did not what was happening to him, but with a tingly pain inside his head, he also seemed to lose control over himself._

"_Now, boy, I will tell you to recite some words. You will repeat with your wand pointed at her," the scary creature pointed at the woman and said "her" with such disgust as if she were an object of abomination._

"_What would it do?" The boy asked, curious as ever, but his eyes somewhere away from the creature's face._

_Everyone gasped in shock. The boy had no clue why. Even the big scary man seemed to make a noise of disappointment. The creature seemed to be a little annoyed._

"_Next time, Lucius, make sure you teach your son never to question his Lord again." Then he turned to him. He could not see his movement, but his sharp sense of hearing told him he had, judging by the direction and amplitude in which the sound reached his ear. "It would kill her, dear boy."_

_The boy gasped inwardly. No, he couldn't do this; he just couldn't._

"_When I say "Now", you are to point your wand at her chest and say this: Avada Kedavra. Now, raise your wand."_

_This was wrong, so wrong. Despite himself, he saw himself raise his wand. He looked at the woman again. The same fiery energy surged through her pupils. At that moment, the boy knew he was small but somehow he had to fight it. He had to fight himself._

_His elbow made a grinding sound as he did. He could vaguely hear the creature's, as well as the scary man's, eerie voices, "Come on now, you can do it...there you go..."_

_He shut his eyes. It hurt worse than Crucio to contradict, but he did. He jerked his hand down, and not being able to bear the pain that raged through his head, he fell unconscious._

Draco jerked back to reality with a gasp, and so did another person in front of him.

**A/N: So what did you think? Write your thoughts in a review!! Por favor??**

**PS: Memoria-Memory and Iunctio-Connection in Latin.**


	8. She Never Knew: Part One

**Disclaimer: Plot: mine. Stuffs you recognize: Rowling's.**

**A/N: Okay guys I know this chapter is a bit rushed over but I will be away for a day or two and I wanted to give my readers another chapter before I leave. Thanks for your support...and REVIEW!!**

Chapter 8: She Never Knew

Draco sat still in horror.

Madam Pomfrey had told him it would only bring up memories that shared a link with Hermione. He was so sure that the memory of Hermione hitting him hard across the face would come up...

_Then how the effing hell did _that _come up??_

Then it clicked his head with another memory, this time kept within the confinements of his own mind.

_He paced along the corridors, insomnia racking his head. And with insomnia came its worst side effects—recalling of highly unfond memories._

_He tried really hard to fight the memories, but no one ever could beat the misty shadows of past, could they?_

_The memory from that night rushed back to him like a chilly gust of December wind. He grabbed masses of hair from both sides of his head and pulled them with both hands, trying to relieve himself from the agony that was starting to lurk in the pit of his stomach. He shuffled over to the margin of the hallway that separated the cold stone floor from the grassy plains of the Quidditch field, and looked up at the sky. It was all stars...sparkling, dazzling, radiant with a kind of unfamiliar purity._

_It reminded him bloody well of this thing called innocence._

_The soft moonlight flooded the hallways. He wondered why he was marvelling such a stupid, mundane object, but he did._

_The nocturnal breeze seemed to relieve him a bit, and he was thankful to all heavens for that. Although he was not sure if the heavens would want anything to do with a devil's spawn as him._

_He thought of all the Mudbloods around him. They somehow related to that cursed memory. And among the crowd in his head, someone especially stuck her frizzy head out._

_Granger?_

_He wondered to himself: would he want Granger to die like that?_

_Probably not._

_He sighed, and now that he felt a lot cooler and the burning and throbbing sensation in his head was gone, he turned around and walked back to his dorm._

Draco was petrified. He had not noticed that as thin as the connecting thread might be, the memory was still connected to Granger. He dared to look at the person sitting in front. Her eyes, now sunken pools of caramel in purple-rounded sockets, held nothing but horror.

_Oh Merlin, she's going to faint, she couldn't stand the memory..._

But Hermione Granger was not the strongest witch of her time for nothing. She only turned her trembling head towards the person sitting by her, breathing heavily. Her lips trembled, aching to speak, aching to question.

And much to her good nature, she convinced herself, aching to comfort.

But Draco did not give her that much time. He stood up roughly, the chair that had held him earlier making a loud screeching sound against the floor. Without waiting one more second, again in rough motion he pushed open the door to the infirmary and walked away with long, hasty steps.

DMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHG

I cannot believe what just happened. Granger knows.

I intended for it to always remain a secret. It was perfect that way. No one needed to know my sodding miserable life history. No one needs to pity me.

Pity! Hah! What a raw, worthless emotion. It is like taking away your self-dependence. How low can you sink?

A Malfoy _does not _depend on others, thus a Malfoy _does not _accept pity or sympathy.

I know that people do not really take the Malfoy name with its true glory anymore, what with my father's deeds. But I have known now for a long time that Malfoy does not hold the definition that my father has supplied.

In fact, at times even I don't know for sure what it stands for.

But for now, that is irrelevant. I will not have Hermione Granger swooning over me with words of comfort; the idea is disturbing as much as it is unacceptable.

I just keep thinking that if I were the person I was a year ago, most probably by now I would be cramping my thoughts with profanity over Granger. It sometimes beats me how I do not even recognize myself most of the time now.

If my father had not instilled that I was never to take anyone's help or lean on someone, maybe I would have. Maybe. But the instillations are too strong and deeply carved for me to let go.

I feel like laughing at myself right now. One moment I stand sturdy that I will _not _take help whatever the circumstances, and the other moment I tell myself I might have after all. I really wish someone answered the question for me. I want to know who the real me is and _my _opinions.

Too late for that now. All too late. And I accept. It's all too perfect. I am deemed to have a life devoid of people nosing around in my business. Nothing bad about that at all.

I'm going to fly around a bit now. First I have Granger knowing stuff about me. She would be the last person I would want to confide _that _stuff in. Then I have this crapload of...something pressing down on me because I feel I might have been the one who had done that to Granger.

Wait. I hurt a Muggleborn.

That does not leave me any better than the Death Eaters that night. Or my father. Or...Voldemort.

Right now, I really hope I died. Like my father so deftly named me, _weakling, _maybe I am too big a coward to kill myself. I really, really hope someone killed me. Or I fell off my broom and woke up in hell. At least I would not have to endure the shadow of my past that keeps following me everywhere. However much I try to convince myself otherwise, the horrible, maybe even evil, jerk, _was_ I. The past tense does not even operate. _ I _did all that. _I _insulted all the Muggleborns so bad that I even heard some of them cry over it. Especially Granger. I wonder how badly it must have affected her. I tormented her, and Potter and Weasel. I insulted her just way beyond the limit. As much as I dislike her I still cannot forget what a person I have been.

I tried to kill Dumbledore. I worked with the Death Eaters, however passive my participation. I made people's life a hell. Including mine.

I deserve to die, get my soul to be lifted to hell and burnt, and my body to rot among feline creatures, and ravens to feed upon my neglected corpse, and the pain delivered directly up to my already tortured soul.

No one would really care. No one at all. The world would rotate in its usual axis and around the sun in its usual orbit. The seasons will change, waves will crash and go back to their source again, people will be to their business, and maybe someone will one day stumble upon my dead body, trip and curse my deceased incessantly. Granger, Potter and Weasel will _definitely _have a party. Poeple will tsk-tsk and call me the "poor boy who passed away a day too early". No one would care. So why do I care?

But all my past sins come back to haunt me. I cannot apologize; it's no use. Nothing is of any use. The best that my life can be is not get worse than what it is already. And it cannot get worse than it is already.

Please kill me, Merlin. I lust for freedom. Kill me Merlin. I deserve it. I really do, I really do...ask that First year and even he would say Draco Malfoy deserved to die. Just take me away from here, Merlin...take me...

DMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHG

Inside, the Hogwartians merrily planned away for Christmas that was only two weeks away. Outside, oblivious to everyone, on an abandoned Quidditch field, a blon-haired boy lost his tolerance to his overly heavy emotions and crashed to the ground face down, unconscious.

DMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHGDMHG

Hermione waited for him to leave, and then smothered her face with her pillow and howlied uncontrollably. The tears flowed freely down her eyes without a stop like a river, flowing into a sea gradually.

She did not know the exact reason why she was crying. A part of her told her it was because she could not bear the pain of that memory. Another part of her told her it was because she felt sorry for the child in the memory.

And had involuntarily wanted to hold the man he had grown up into, telling him it was all right and maybe even offer him a piece of happiness.

But her innocence was long gone; there was no regret in that matter. She had seen too much killing in the war. But the emotions...

Then it hit her. Draco Malfoy. _Felt. __**Human emotions.**_

Too long ago.

She did not have to think much more, since Madam Pomfrey came in.

"How are you feeling now, Miss Granger."

"A bit better, thanks for asking." She gave a polite smile of courtesy.

"My pleasure. Okay Miss Granger, I've been meaning to ask you something when you woke up. Now, by the effects it is evident that you have been hit with a Cruciatus. Was it Mr Malfoy who cast it?"

"NO!" Hermione yelled. Then going a bit red she lowered her voice and said, "I mean, no."

"Are you sure it wasn't him?"

"Absolutely."

"Then? Who was it?"

"Madam, can I please keep that a secret? It is something I do not want to disclose," Hermione asked earnestly. That brought back her head to Harry. She bit her bottom lip tightly between her teeth, refraining herself from crying. _How could he? _ Everything was a big blur inside her head now.

"Only if you promise to disclose it to one of the Heads by a week's time," Madam Pomfrey said, frowning. "And mind you, I _will _personally make sure you do."

_A week. _"Yes, Madam."

They were interrupted by a Ravenclaw prefect dragging a heavier body into the infirmary. "Madam Pomfrey, we have an issue here..."

Mdam Pomfrey hurriedly took it from there. The body was laid on the nearest bed and Madam Pomfrey rushed off to the other room to get some potions.

The face was familiar. Too familiar for Hermione's liking.

Draco Malfoy.

**A/N: Like it? Hate it? REVIEW!!**


	9. Incoherent Mumblings

**Disclaimer: Whatever you recognize, belongs to Rowling.**

**A/N: OH MY GOD I AM SO SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG!! I was almost thinking about leaving the fic...wasn't feeling like writing anymore and of course, the number of reviews does nothing to help. Thanks to rainpixi's unexpected review I felt like working on it again. But rest assured: THIS STORY WILL NOT BE ABANDONED.**

**Don't be surprised that Part Two of She Never Knew is not here. I plan on putting that in right after this.**

Chapter 9: Incoherent Mumblings

Hermione shivered in the cold draught that whooshed in through the open window. It was late at night, some time after midnight as she assumed. She wondered how the very responsible Madam Pomfrey could have missed that window. Hermione realized that the cold wind would just add to the stinging pain that rampaged all over her body and count against any possibilities that she might get any sleep that night. All she had been doing so long is staring at the unconscious boy lying on the bed next to her. She did not even know how she had pulled the stunt off, considering how there was a throbbing pain in her neck and turning her head was indeed an excruciating task. Maybe it was because the thoughts whirling around in her head served as anaesthesia.

Hermione's eyes were still red and swollen and glazed with tears that were due to fall but had not yet. Her mind went back to Malfoy's memory again. She could not calculate but she had a vague idea how painful it might be to suffer like that at such a young age. Now that she knew a part of what the supposedly evil enemy hid behind his sneering demeanour, she no longer felt the same acidic despise when she looked at him.

Paradigm shift.

How much hatred had he pent up inside him? How many scars did he really have all over his body from the tortures that had been a part of his life ever since childhood? Who, really, _was _Draco Malfoy?

She actually felt pity for the boy on her left. She really did.

With much effort applied, Hermione managed to drag herself off the bed. She winced in pain; her knee joints madly protested to her movement. Her already bruised skin of her legs dragged along the stone floor, allowing drops of blood to seep out of the newly clotting skin. She tried again, trying by diverting her pain to her bottom lip, biting it ferociously. Her frizzy, unremarkably brown hair kept falling in front of her face, shielding it from getting frozen for an eternity. She wondered how Malfoy was sleeping so soundly with such a cold wind blowing in; then again, a person bearing so much coldness in his blood must be used to it.

She kept dragging; maybe she would reach her destination someday. She huffed when she remembered that she would not be going to school tomorrow. Or day after that. Or for two weeks.

Tears sprung to her eyes immediately as the events of the day before hit her hard on the face. How could she not recall that right after she woke up?

Harry. Her best friend. The guy she could count on everytime she was going through some dilemma. The guy she would die for if necessity arose. And no, that was not a hollow promise and even Hermione knew that.

He was the guy she had given a piece of her heart too...the guy whose object of affection caused a sudden dose of jealousy to annihilate her better senses.

Hermione did not know when her feelings had gone beyond platonic, and she most definitely could not circle a date on the calendar and reminisce "Oh yeah that was the date when I fell for my best friend who apparently had a girlfriend..."

How could she be so stupid? She chastised herself for not being the same old rational herself.

What had she not tried to catch his attention other than the times when she raised her hand in class?

She had even stopped raising her hand in class much nowadays because once Harry had commented, "Geez Hermione let go of that nerd sometimes, will ya?"

She had started applying a bit of makeup so that she appeared prettier than usual. Harry even appreciated that by saying she looked nice, and she had gone all putty over that little snippet of a compliment. But what saddened her was that her plain _niceness _ without layers of makeup as thick as the ocean floor would never—_never--_get his heart to skip a bit.

Before, Hermione ate as much as wanted to and whatever she wanted to. Although she still maintained a very thin figure, all that the scrawny thing was blessed with were just slight curves—enough for an average girl.

Average. Hermione heard fate snicker. She would never have more than average.

Look at Ginny. Beautiful wavy flaming hair versus still-slightly-bushy plain brown hair. Her feminine laugh versus loud raucus hearty unfeminine laugh. Her dramatic hourglass curves versus her figure that looked like it had only been dented slightly at the sides.

But she was Hermione Granger. She knew that her tomboyish, dorky, ambitious personality was not bad, if not amazing. She just wished someone would judge her for that. Surely, Harry Potter did not. In fact, she almost got killed by him.

But why? How? How did Harry, the protagonist everyone loved, cast a dark Spell as such, that too on his best friend?

Maybe it was an Imperius. Or Polyjuice Potion.

Or him after all, her brain concluded. She sighed and a little droplet managed to sneak its way out of her eye like a teenager sneaking out to an outrageous punk concert without her parent's consent. She wiped at it fervently, not wanting to feel weak or vulnerable or defeated...

A loud slam snapped her out of her thoughts.

A blond boy, shirtless, passably toned body and pointed features could not resist against the powers of the winds and let the windows slip from his nail-bitten delicately long fingers, causing them to slam in a deafening thud. He winced, hoping no one was awakened.

Hermione stared at him for some time. What she saw was not someone devilishly handsome. It was a well-sculpted body, much too pointy features, long platinum blond hair that covered the nape of his neck and fell in loose bangs over his eyes (although somewhere it was screaming for a haircut), smooth porcelain skin that was, again, much too white to be sent to runway and had a linear scar marking its trail across his left cheek...

...scars and gashes marring every fold of muscle on his body...

And lithium eyes that had the effect of freezing elements as he pierced through the slight breaking on her soul with contempt as she gawked at him.

He caught her gawking at him.

As that little embarrassing fact carved itself onto Hermione's brain, Draco Malfoy walked away, his chin up, showing off all the stubbles on his defined and at the moment, clenched, jawline.

"You bite your nails."

_Where did _that _come from??_

Draco gave her a weird look. "Why ask if you can see for yourself?"

"I thought you were too full of vanity to destroy such element of you _beauty_," she retorted, the last word dripping in sarcasm.

"Glad you find me beautiful Granger. And I'm not your next fucking Transfiguration assignment, and neither am I your fucking Arithmancy homework that's going to get you an Outstanding, so stop trying to calculate me."

Hermione looked at him, scandalized through and through by his rudeness. Her recovery came in the form of the realization that this was Draco Malfoy.

"I'm sorry."

"For what? Being born a Mud—Muggleborn? Too bad I don't give a fuck to that nowadays. Go resurrect my father and apologize to _him." _He snorted hollowly. His face looked red from fury, but his lithium eyes that was almost always inexpressive, now bore a specks of sorrow and hatred mixed in flakes against the iris. A comet that shot past every 100 years, Hermione thought.

"No...about that memory—"

"I don't need your fucking pity Granger!" he growled. He made a motion that spelled, with each flex of the muscle, that he was about to get up and hit her, and he wanted to, badly. A look of fear crossed Hermione's ace, but then fell languid between her valiant expression.

Draco fumed and breathed heavily, trying to vent out the anger. But Hermione's scared look caught his eye, and for the second time that night, Draco's eyes bore something else other than a devouring nebula, or maybe a black hole. Hermione picked up each and every emotion as she stared in wonder.

Anger. Hatred. Contepmt. Pain. Sorrow.

Regret.

"I don't hit women...I'm not my father," he mumbled almost inaudibly as he fell limp from his fit of rage onto the infirmary bed.

Hermione just stared at him in awe. Her speechlessness made her feel stupid. She just turned away, scrambled up her bed, and faced the other side, trying to fall asleep again.

"I'm sorry Granger. I'm sorry for calling you a Mudblood. I'm sorry I'm what I am. I'm sorry I let you see a horrible piece of memory. I'm sorry I almost killed you today..." he mumbled incoherently, almost as if to himself.

"You? You pretended to be Harry in the dorm when you hit me with that Cruciatus?" Hermione sat up in vicious motion and hissed.

Draco looked aghast. He had definitely assumed she was sleeping.

"It was Potter," he said in a flat yet shocked tone. His eyes flew open like saucers, and then constricted in narrow slits in an opposing reflex.

_Oops._

**A/N: REVIEW!!**

**Up next is Part Two of She Never Knew. Will be Ginny/Blaise and Ron/Pansy/Daphne centric. But mostly the first one I guess. Which means...**

**The cliff hanger hangs (?!) for one more chapter now.**

**Mwahaha.**


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